


Another Brick In The Wall

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dildos, M/M, PWP, Past Relationship(s), Phasma Novel Compliant, Potential Spoilers, The Robe™, robe!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: Short and sordid. That is all this is.(At least, that's what they tell themselves.)





	Another Brick In The Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IrisParry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/gifts).



> ...so, I read the PHASMA novel on Saturday, and like everybody else was immediately struck by the urge to write something about THE ROBE™ because Hux is a fucking slut. _Getting ready_ for an impatient Ren, oh man. Still, I was quite nervous about doing so because I haven't written in a while and my confidence is very low, but talking with Iris hit my buttons, and...well. Here you have it. The Cardinal/Hux thing in this story is _long_ in the past, but...you know Kylo. He's never been much cop at letting shit go.
> 
> Also, it doesn't have a lot directly to do with the story itself, but I kept listening to Leonard Cohen's [_You Want It Darker_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0nmHymgM7Y) while writing, and it's _such_ a kylux song to my mind. Ha.

With Cardinal long gone and the comm set aside, Hux at last rises from the couch. It’s an effort to force his shoulders downward and into some vague semblance of relaxation, but it’s also entirely necessary. This unexpected visit has engendered complications of several types. With the most pressing dealt with first, he must now see to the last.

On the small table at the couch’s side is a box innocuous enough that Cardinal would have paid it no heed, even had the desire to do so had not been long ago drilled from his perfect soldier’s mind. Ignoring the thought that even _that_ perfection had so recently proved its flaws, Hux takes the box entire between his hands. There, he returns to the couch, though he does not recline as he had before. Seated upon its edge, he sets the box before him, lips pursed and tension returning to his shoulders. There will be time, enough, for what is necessary. But he does so hate to be rushed in this way.

Despite being of wooden construction, the heavy dark ironwood so commonly seen in the imposing thick forests of lost Arkanis, the lock is smooth and militantly-mechanic. There’s both a ten-digit code and a fingerprint request. With both given it pops open, displaying the neatly aligned contents to Hux’s knowing eye.

Often he’ll pause a moment, here. Hux has always been about strategy, about tactics; he has many tools at his disposal, and each situation can be adapted to whichever he deems most suitable. But with the captain’s unscheduled visit, and his earlier taste of Ren’s apparently sour temper, Hux figures he might as well prepare for both the worst and the best.

His choice is the thickest of the appendages inside, veined and curved and dark; even so, Ren somehow manages to best it in girth and length. Hux still hasn’t bothered upgrading to a larger model, though they certainly exist. He tells himself Ren’s not worth the credits. In truth, he likes the burn. There’s something to be said for thinking oneself loose and open and dripping with slick, only to find the cock rammed up there to be something even greater than expected.

Ren does have that tendency. To be something other than what one might expect.

Selecting one of the many tubes of lubricant within – for all they never seem to have enough – Hux flips the lid, coats two fingers, and lays perfunctorily on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. It’s usually better to start with one. It’s not that he can’t handle two this early in proceedings; certainly, in the Academy, both time and privacy constraints had meant he’d taken far more with far less. But there are some luxuries provided by rank that he has come to enjoy.

Even if Kylo Ren does have a habit of ruining those.

Still, he can’t quite curb the sigh that escapes as he slips both fingers over the half-hard length of his cock, their tips feather-light over the silken skin of his perineum. He hasn’t removed the robe, nor even undone the belt; that will come, in time. Though it hardly matters that the excess lube is already dripping on the robe beneath his hips. The couch won’t be protected by any mere mortal means, not after Ren has arrived.

Allowing his knees to fall apart, the robe parting like cut silk over smooth skin, Hux flutters his eyes closed and cants his hips upward. Though his hand remains motionless, it invites the fingers deeper still. It shivers over his skin, the catch of fingertip over prostate, for all he’s not quite aroused yet. It’s almost uncomfortable, even as his dick gives an interested twitch, blood pooling low. He doesn’t need to look at a chronometer to know Ren lurks nearby. The knight might be the one with the idiot mystical powers, and yet Hux somehow always knows when he is close. He doesn’t question it. He doesn’t want to know.

And he wants even less to know _why_ he doesn’t care for what should be entirely relevant information.

Three fingers, and his cock’s almost full, tip tenting the flap of fabric still shielding it from the slight cool of recycled air. Hux doesn’t pay it the slightest heed. For all Ren shows little finesse in where and when he sticks his own dick into willing holes, he’s got a fascination with Hux’s that borders on the pornographic. Hux might think it obscene, if not for the fact that watching those thick pouting lips open around the hot length as he slides down to its root has become a much-favoured pastime.

So, he leaves his dick for greater things, and reaches out one lazy hand for the chosen dildo. It’s not slick, not yet – but he spreads his thighs, sets it on the fabric between, thick blunt head just pushed up against the loosened, sensitive muscles of his hole. He rocks himself against this in slow tease, tuneless hum escaping from between pursed lips, as he reaches for the tube. An even more generous amount, this time, and he takes his time about warming it between long fingers. It drips on his robe, and upon the upholstery, but again: there’s little point in caring. Ren will only make it so much worse.

And Hux is the one who invited the monster to his door, besides.

When he at last moves slick hands back down, the fat head of the dildo has worked between his cheeks, is pressing hard and curious about the flutter of muscles therein. For all its return is assured, and the reward of it much greater, Hux still feels a curl of regret to remove it. But he slicks it up slow, because Maker knows Ren can’t appreciate such artistry of hand and wrist. Then, he shifts; with hips raised completely now he presses it first against, and then into, his own body.

It’s almost like Ren himself, he muses, half-hazy. These are not thoughts he’d entertain at any other time. But it _is_ true – they’d butted heads right from the start, these two young men forced into one another’s orbits. Their collision had been not only imminent but inevitable. And they have continued to clash, over and over again. But never has the passion of it lessened. It has instead sharpened, turned somehow sultry and sensual. They’d moved _inside_ one another, in the end, in all ways. It changes nothing. Not in any important way. They remain still rivals, still competitors for goals too similar to be synergistic.

But Hux has never quite been above having a little fun.

The slide has that burn he so enjoys, like licking along the edge of a knife sharpened to perfection. At first, it’s just movement: and then, the blood wells, and the pain thrums though his blood like warsong. With eyes closed, now, Hux lets his thighs fall wider, shifting again so that he barely needs to push; his body does the work instead, eagerly drawing the ridiculous thing deeper. The pressure grows, his breath quickening, cock a wet hard throb where it bobs up against a belly that longer feels quite so flat.

He pauses there, just a moment. The thing is barely half inside, but it’s enough for now. And he opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling of the suite that had once been his father’s, and lets his lip curl. Brendol would be horrified to know of Armitage’s practices, and that under his own precious roof. Of course, this little utilitarian couch is hardly reminiscent of the Imperial monstrosity Brendol had kept in this same place, decadent and ostentatious as the damned thing had been. And Hux does not doubt his father had fucked more than a few nubile young officers on the thick red damask. Armitage himself had never so much as even sat upon that chaise-lounge, and for more than the reason that Brendol would never have allowed it.

But this is different. Brendol’s sordid little trysts never did anything to bring about more power or influence; he might as well been fucking droids, for all his paunchy belly and ageing cock could inspire any further loyalty in those already long indoctrinated to the Order. What Armitage does here, and now – it’s more than that. Kylo Ren exists outside the Order, for all his mentor _is_ the Order. Here, Hux forges an alliance, peculiar and prickly as it might be. But then, Brendol had never been impressed by the fact his son could take a cock better than the rest of his graduating class.

“Well, father,” he says with a scowl, and presses it deep, “it looks like I continue to excel, despite everything you ever said against me.”

Then, he wipes his mind of all thoughts of dead Brendol Hux. The man has haunted him quite enough for one day. He works the dildo in, out, luxuriating in the slide of it over prostate and taut rim. His dick aches, but still he pays it no heed. Ren is near. And he pulls it free, gasps at the lack of fulfilment, tosses it aside. Another thing to concern himself with, but only later.

The door opens, quite without aid of the control panel on either side. And then – _he_ is inside, oversized and overwrought, this creature of dark shadows and sharp edges. With the helmet cast aside, then – and only then – is there any softness to him: in the expressive curves of his face, the liquid depths of his eyes. But he is no the less dangerous for it.

Hux only smiles, and opens his legs wider.

Ren pauses, a great predator caught upon some scent – and then he turns, and there’s something like blood and smoke in those dark dark eyes. “You fucked the Captain.”

It comes so easy, to be so indignant. Rocking upward, Hux pulls the robe closed over his thin chest, lips curled to frank sneer. “Certainly not!” Fussily he adjusts the lay of the robe over long, crossed thighs, now sitting as prim as any schoolmarm before some oafish groundsman. Still, he can’t quite help the scandalous curve of his lips as he speaks again, airy and perfectly careless. “…as if I’d have had the _time_. He was barely here ten minutes.”

Any other mortal would be left breathless by the speed at which Ren crosses the space between them, hulking great shadow in those ridiculous robes. But Hux has never let himself be cowed by the man beneath the mystery, even as Ren now looms over him. With flat open palms pressing down over his knees, Ren forces the backs of both thighs flat against the couch, the knees already beginning to inch apart.

Though in truth, Hux cannot be sure if that particular movement is more on his own part, rather than that of Ren himself.

“But you _have_ fucked him.”

At first Hux pauses. But even this little revelation does not throw him long off-kilter; tilting his head, he gives Ren yet another of his perfectly innocent smiles. “Yes. I have.”

“ _When_?”

His breath burns hot upon Hux’s skin, tightly drawn lips but an inch from his own. For a moment, Hux considers simply leaning forward, catching the fullness of the lower between his teeth and biting down until the other man howls. Instead, he leans back, one eyebrow arched high. “What does it matter?” he asks, even as Ren follows him forward, as if magnetised. “It was a long time ago.”

Those strange dark eyes have narrowed. The motion makes Hux wonder if Ren’s playing his little mind tricks again. But he cannot feel the telltale prick of those peculiar powers, galvanised and metallic at the back of his mind. “Why?” Ren asks, sudden and abrupt; Hux’s own eyes turn cool and thin.

“ _Why_ , what?”

“Why would you fuck the man your father replaced you with?”

If not for the childhood he’d endured, perhaps that might have been a barb to stick deep in an aching heart. But it’s a lump of granite in his chest, as it long has been, when Hux replies with a short chuckle. “Haven’t you answered your own question?”

Ren pulls back, now, for all his fingers dig deep possessive grooves into the thighs that they encircle. “So why would he fuck _you_?”

He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. Hux is astute enough to know that much. “Pity,” he says, and it lays bitter on his tongue even as he smiles. “And no, I didn’t enjoy that.” Before Ren can think to ask, can dream of probing where he can never be welcome, Hux offers brittle clarification. “He genuinely thought he was being kind. That he was proving to poor, sad, lonely little Armitage that we didn’t need to be enemies. That we would be _friends_.”

“By _fucking_?”

He can’t help the laughter, startled and short. “Well, no.” This eases Ren’s dubious expression hardly at all; in this moment, Hux is starkly aware of the years that lie like a chasm between their ages. “That was more my idea than his,” he adds, and when Ren opens his mouth on a complaint, he snaps off a rare admission, one more admonition than only that. “And it was not a particularly good one, no. Though it had its purpose.”

Oddly, Ren takes a moment to process Hux’s words. When he speaks again, he even manages to sound more curious than sullen. “So you really didn’t enjoy it?”

Shifting his hips, the silk of the robe like the press of cool skin over heated flesh, Hux rolls his eyes. “He was too gentle. Though with that said, he didn’t even kiss me.” Now he allows his scorn to flow, rich and undammed. “I don’t think he even knew _how_.”

It’s not a question when Ren speaks next. Not with his blunt flat nails digging deep crescents above the bruises he’s already made. “You don’t like gentle.”

“No.” Though he does reach out one long, bare foot, prods Ren in the space just below his left ribs until his fingers ease their claw-like grasp. “In the end, I just put him on his back on the floor and rode him until he finished.” The memory isn’t an unpleasant one, in truth; Cardinal’s body had been hard in all the right places, his dick more than adequately so despite his obvious unease at Hux’s methods. Still, he can’t help but scoff. “He looked so _surprised_ ,” Hux says, and then he grins wide. His skin feels a size too small, his blood ten degrees too hot when he adds, “But even more so when I took my cock in hand and came all over his face.”

He expects something like jealousy. They’ve never called this an exclusive arrangement, but Hux knows Ren has never been the type to share what toys he thinks belong to him alone. And yet, he’s almost fond when he leans back, tilts his head in curious regard. “…you’re feral, Hux. Did you know that?”

Haughtiness has always come so easily to him. “In fact, I’m a First Order general – and one of Imperial pedigree.”

“But hardly an impeccable one.” Even as Hux twists his mouth to a snarl Ren shifts his entire weight upon him; it leaves Hux on his back, robe opened around hips and thighs, though still closed over the tight cage of his chest. But his nipples are hard, quick breaths scraping them against even the fine weave of such flimsy fabric – and Ren smiles even as he again looms over him, bare hands now tight about Hux’s wrists.

It’s silent, at first. And then he chuckles, the sound barely anything more than a whisper. The darkness of his eyes is all that Hux can see. And he doesn’t care. “Do you think any of your Imperial heroes would find themselves in a position like this?” Ren says, so soft, and Hux laughs right in his face.

“If the rumours are to be believed, Orson Krennic found himself in this position on a very regular basis.”

Ren shifts his weight, again; even through the thick robes, Hux can feel the insistent press of his arousal. “Ah, but the Director…” And he lets go one wrist, reaches down towards his belt. “…he failed, did he not?”

And Hux reaches up, fists one great hank of that thick hair in his hand, and yanks Ren’s face down to his own. “Yes,” he hisses, and even as he hears the clink of metal, the slide of fabric, he makes sure Ren looks no-where else but to him. “Yes, but _I_ don’t make my own mistakes. I simply make it a habit to learn from everybody else’s first.”

He makes no effort to escape from Hux’s hold, though even he must feel it as pain. “So you do,” Ren muses, and when he jerks his hips forward Hux feels hot hard length pressing between his cheeks. “So this… _this_ isn’t a mistake?”

Only great power of will keeps him from keening, from reaching down and taking him in hand. Hux instead fists his fingers all the tighter, turns his nose upward, sneers in a way he knows is both lovely and infuriating. “You’ll shortly find it one you’ve made yourself, if you don’t get that ridiculous cock in me right now.”

Ren’s only reply is a snort. It doesn’t matter, because one snap of his hips has his dick shifting into place, fat head just teasing at his rim. Hux has no idea how and when Ren had acquired the lubricant, but he’s hot and he’s slick and then he is _inside_ ; he swears at the burn of it, and his nails would be cutting condemnation into the taut muscles of Ren’s back if not for the tunic the knight still wears.

But even Hux’s spitted insults don’t stop his thrusting, his breath coming quick and his pupils so wide his eyes might as well be purest black. For all his vaunted control of the Force, there are times when Ren appears to have none whatsoever over his remarkable body. But then Hux has also seen his temper, knows the damage it has wreaked all over his ship. And it’s on him now, with the heat bursting inside – and then there’s the sharp ache of his abused hole as Ren draws out. His back is surely bruised, a topography of purple and black to match the fingertips already pressed deep into hips. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, not when Ren’s mouth closes now on his dick.

For all the frantic chaos of the release Ren had demanded of him, Hux’s own climax comes as a languid thing, all fingers and tongue and low humming amusement. Ren drinks deep of him, does not pull back even when the last dry spasms have left Hux’s body. When at last he moves back, lets his own body fall to satiation, silence hangs between them, heavy as a man upon his gallows. With a push to the man’s side, Hux is the first to rise out from beneath Ren’s limp weight. Dropping the robe like a mythical creature slipping the skin of its animal self, Hux is utterly unselfconscious in his smooth nudity as he looks back to Ren.

“Will you shower with me?” he asks, nothing to the question but rote inquiry. “Or are we done here?”

He stretches, impossibly long limbs seeming to elongate further, spine arched; Ren remains still completely clothed, save for where his dick hangs from undone trousers. It manages to be still impressive even when not engorged. “The meeting is soon,” he says, almost idle, though there’s nothing easy about the weight of his undivided gaze. Hux still turns away from it, looks to the door of his bunk.

“So it is,” he says, perfectly light. “I will see you there, then.”

Ren has always moved so quick, and so quiet. His hands span almost his waist entire, fingertips pressing new bruises into the soft flesh of his stomach. Even as Hux rolls his eyes, he presses his hips back, feels renewed hardness against his ass. There’s time enough before the meeting, and Hux knows it. Armitage Hux doesn’t make mistakes. He never has, and he never will.

But even as he leads the man to his bed once more, Hux somehow can’t quite put all the blame for this on Kylo Ren alone.


End file.
